Cocoons and Butterflies (FF/FF)

[AlexUSA3]

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Cocoons and Butterflies (FF/FF)
Tuesday, January 3, 2017

I never understood beauty. Mom ruined me. Lauren saw the beauty in me. Joyce saw it better. Mandy saw it even better than Joyce. Ken eventually saw it better than Mandy. No one saw it as well as Trent did though. Alas, when I was younger, I didn’t have Ken, but I did have the others in my life. I’m grateful I did.

I handled my problems in four ways: going to church for perpetual adoration, praying rosaries, playing TUGs, and spending time with friends. None of those could change being daily hated in every aspect of my being, and it gradually rewired my brain to the point of no return that we call “borderline personality disorder.” I didn’t know it at the time, but my anguished prayers were all answered via my siblings and friends, especially Trenton.

My introduction to faith came via our grandmother, Florinda Ortega y Delgado, but Mandy was the one who asked me to come to church with her. I fell in love and, for a time, rode my bike to every service I could, growing daily until I realized that I was overdoing things. I’d committed myself to school and softball and had to serve the Lord there first and foremost, and I’m glad I did because I felt the joy of doing His will as best as I could without understanding my mental health problems. Grandma Florinda, Dad’s mother, is still a big part of my life, and I’m glad I took the time when I started understanding religion to talk to her more since she lived down in West Palm Beach while we lived in Orlando.

Grandma Florinda’s mother was a Seminole nation native of pure blood, and her father was an immigrant from Cuba whose parents hailed from Spain. Sorry, I’m getting lost in everything because she means so much to me. Let it suffice that I love her, she loves her grandchildren, and that it’s from her that I primarily get the Seminole look of darker skin and dark eyes. Mom came from Georgia, so I doubt she’s anything but pure racist Confederate white stock. Dad’s dad is a bit of a mystery, though, because he had unknown paternity and was given the fake surname of “Patterson.” I think his dad was a Micosoukee even though his mom was pasty white. I loved to visit Grandma Florida and Grandpa Michael (God have mercy on his soul, a good man) and look at the pictures on the wall.

Thus, without Mom caring about me while working as an ER nurse, and Dad working as the ER surgeon, it was left to Trent and Lauren to care for me during the awkwardness of growing up, being placed two grades ahead of the other kids my age, being unwanted by Mom, and finding a precious escape in softball where I eventually won 3 state MVP awards in 4 years. They saw an amazing little sister whom they loved and cherished, and I regret not appreciating it until I was a married woman. This story comes later in the same winter break as More Than a Sister. I didn’t appreciate Lauren enough then, but I was set to learn how much she appreciated me.

“How’s my sister?” Lauren asked me on a cooler day while I folded three black bandanas.
“Dead inside,” I responded tersely, “Hurt by reality. Saddened that my siblings know the truth.”
“Jane,” she came up behind me, “Joyce and I are worried about you. Joyce needs you.”
“Tell Joyce,” I tied one bandana on my left wrist, “I love her and that she ought to look at you.”
“It doesn’t work that way. You alone are Janie. Joyce loves me, but she loves you.”
“I’ll try my best,” I sighed and tied another bandana on my right wrist.

When I turned and finally faced Lauren, I saw what looked like a slightly shorter version of me. Lauren and I were nearly identical. My jeans were black, like my mood, hence why I had black bandanas; Instead, Lauren was in blue jeans. My polo shirt was short-sleeved and red, because it is my favorite color; she had a long-sleeve yellow-and-black button-up flannel shirt. She wore a yellow bandana headband, but I had mine as a kerchief. Both bandanas were held by shiny white barrettes. Both of us had braids; mine was held by a red scrunchie; hers was held by yellow. We were so similar, but different. A scar on her cheek from a softball catching injury made it easy to distinguish us once people got to know both of us. I tied the kerchief on my head and clipped it in place with the barrettes without saying a word, but when I turned to walk away I felt her hand take me by the wrist. I felt the kind of pain that is only experienced because of love.

“What’s wrong, Janie?” I immediately heard when I entered the living room.
“I’m fine,” I brushed off Joyce despite my interior struggle.
“You’re wearing three black bandanas. Something is wrong. Let’s go to morning mass, hmm?”
“Joyce, I don’t know what I can do to help you right now, but I’ll do my best,” I promised.
“Any regrets?” Joyce asked me when I sat down on the sofa.
“None. I’m glad we went,” I smiled a bit and felt like a weight had lifted off my brain.
“Told you so,” Amanda entered the room while eating a chopped apple.

It would still be another year before things spiraled out of control, resulting in me seeking help in what would be the last great stage of what I considered to be my “childhood” despite graduating from college by that point. It took 11 suicide threats before I finally took my roommate's car and checked myself into a psychiatric center. It would be years before I gave my big sister her due, but today was when I learned to appreciate Joyce and Amanda.

Joyce and I immediately connected the day we met. Since then, despite our respective flaws, we both strive to help lift each other. Joyce was still mourning her father's sudden passing, and she was still mentally recovering from being sexually assaulted by her boyfriend. The weeks after that were very stressful, and unlike me Joyce actually did attempt to take her life, surviving with me tying her up and her roommate sticking a finger down her throat to force her to vomit all of the pills she had taken. She was a broken girl, but she was healing. How little we knew that by the end of the month I would be helping her bury her mother as well. She's wearing a flowing brown miniskirt, pink slip-on shoes, white socks, and a pink long-sleeve t-shirt. The Italian’s dark blonde hair swished about her shoulders, and her green eyes showed that she struggled to go about day-to-day life. The heart of this girl, all of 5’4”, was larger than anyone else's present. I teased her about being a professional at TUGs because she sometimes did bondage modeling.

Amanda Sandoval has been my best friend since we met as high school freshmen on the softball team. Nothing good or bad happens without Amanda being one of the first five people to know even when I’m away at school. The Mexican-American has the stereotypical black hair, but hers is naturally super curly and shrinks up to her shoulders despite being as long as Lauren's, which comes to about 3 inches above her butt. Amanda, however, is 5’8”, or 5 inches shorter than me. She's clearly looking for trouble with her yellow bandana headband, green leggings, and green and yellow high school “Athletics” t-shirt.

“Hey, Manda, check this out,” Joyce walked over to my friend with two rubber balls, “See?”
“Why did you zip them together?” Amanda took the 2.5 inch Chuck-It dog toys.
“It's a homemade double ball gag. They're jumbo. Get it?” my friend wiggled her eyebrows.
“Ohhhhhh,” the Mexican looked at me and then Lauren, “I do.”
“Janie, you need to spend some bonding time with your sister,” Joyce confidently announced.
“What's your suggestion?” I walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You two are tied up and sheet mummified,” the Italian smirked.
“Oh, come on, Jane,” Lauren turned to me, “Do it for love, hmmm?”
“Yeah, Janie, do it for Lauren. Bestie,” Amanda looked into my eyes, “I worry about you.”

I shrank back at that. I didn't want pity. I wanted to be either loved or ignored, unconditionally in either scenario. Gazing into my big sister’s eyes emboldened me to embrace opportunity, to grow closer to my friends and to her. Unlike me, she struggled more in religious matters but had a solid grip on her mental state. She always envied my religious fervor, yet I have always envied her psychological stability. I meekly nodded in agreement with the proposal.

White ropes were used to bind me, and black ropes were used to bind Lauren. Nothing was left on the table for us big girls with ropes being used in threes to bind our limbs. Three ropes bound our arms: above and below the elbows and of course at our wrists; three bound our thighs: below the waist, above the knees, and midway; three bound our legs: below the knees, at the ankles, and midway. A breast harness featured ropes going above and below our breasts and armpit cinching. The waist and crotch rope both pinned the arms and irritated us in a playful manner.

Joyce pushed pink bandanas through each rubber ball of her gag, “Open up!l
“Guh!” she authoritatively jammed the gag into my mouth while Amanda brought Lauren near.
“Open open!” Mandy used a wooden spoon to swat Lauren.
“Owww! Mmmmm!” the other half the gag went into my sister's mouth.
“Mmmmm!” both bandanas were knotted with Joyce's girl scout professionalism.
“You’ve yet to escape my work,” Joyce taunts us about that fact.
“These two are going nowhere,” Amanda ups the naughtiness by pulling my shirt up.
“Yeah, that's for sure. They're about to share a lot more than just a gag.”

Joyce and Manda then tied us together at our waists and ankles. The waist was detailed, with the rope being pulled between our legs as well and then tightly cinched to make what was essentially a second crotch rope that we shared. It was a really good job. Girl scout Joyce was inescapable on her best days, and she was definitely in top form.

That crotch rope made it a little dirty, but only a little. Joyce and Manda didn’t expose us, which would have been really dirty. I might have been an ingrate, but we loved each other too much to hurt the other and would allow the crotch rope to be a deterrent against resistance. Joyce knows us too well. She uses her knowledge for good, though, because she’s such a good friend.

“Boobies,” Joyce failed at imitating the way Lauren and I playfully squeeze each other.
“Boobbbbbiesssssssss!” Manda was 100% spot on though. Love you, Manda.

The funniest part was the gag though. We were practically kissing each other on the lips with the shared gag, and our noses almost touched. On top of that, we were also staring into each other’s eyes at a close distance, and I felt uncomfortable seeing how much she loved me and being tied up like this. On the other hand, she seemed to cherish the moment with me.

Being there made me realize that there was something different in this game. It wasn’t about me or Lauren. It was about us as sisters, sisters who love each other and share a circle of friends that includes these two lovely ladies above us. We were the major component of Joyce’s life that was keeping her alive and sane in the wake of what had happened to her in 2016.

Joyce wasn’t much for punishing people except for light tickling and spanking, and Amanda did not do anything except leave you tied up for 3-12 hours while checking on you every 30 minutes so she could loudly suck water through a straw and remind you that you’re thirsty. Yes, Amanda once spent a weekend with us and kept me tied up for 12 straight hours.waiting to be released in my case. On the other hand, Joyce would never leave me bound for more than 3 hours although I would whine for more. Amanda, Joyce, and Lauren all saw something in me that I didn’t, and for Amanda and Joyce to give me all the love and care when they had no moral obligation to do so was touching. I was blessed to have them in my life.

“Janie,” Amanda chided me, “You need to come out of the cocoon. Fly away, butterfly!”
“Yeah, girl, you’ve got us. You're going to always be loved with us three and Trent in your life.”
“Mmmmmmmm,” I blushed and squirmed a little out of embarrassment.
“Mmmmm!” Lauren was jerked around by my squirming.

Joyce was right that I was loved. It was all taking things slowly so that I didn't overwhelm my emotions or my mind. I was slowly understanding my mental state better and better, but this was still very early in that process. I knew a good start was understanding how to reciprocate love as it was given to me by my friends. Joyce had her scout friends and other school friends, but she hand picked me to be one of her closest confidants like I was to Amanda. Within us, waiting to come out at the right times, was something beautiful . I had seen it in all of these girls.

The binding was tight and restrictive, just the way I liked it. The homemade double ball gag was a superb example of Joyce's ingenuity, and being like this with Lauren was truly amusing. We’re a perfect pair for such play despite the 2 inches in height between us. More importantly, we had a wonderful relationship and always brought out the best in each other when tied together even if not fastened to each other like this. I won't bore you with an hour of this, I promise.

Just picture being flexible enough, if you aren't already, to have your elbows tied like this. I’m in a tight spot as it is, but now add the breast harness, waist rope, and leg bondage. Now add a gag that is unusual like this double gag. It was actually clever, typical Joyce rope work really. This was how she liked to play, and I liked it too. I never imagined then that she would one day be a divorcee because her husband cheated on her. I cried with her that day.

Those crotch ropes too. One crotch rope was already tough enough. The double crotch rope was its own level of fun. A regular crotch rope could get me wet if I fiddled with it enough, but with a double crotch rope such fiddling did something funny. I won’t go into it, but it was a bit dirty.

Now, picture being bound and gagged like this. Now, suffer this for an hour and a half. Yeah, it was absolutely amazing with Lauren and I trying to escape and failing. The best TUGs of all, in my opinion, are the ones where your friend kidnaps you and edges you for a long time before then forcing you to orgasm over and over again in rapid succession, but Manda and Joyce didn’t do that and kept it clean. As I said, they’re the “tie and ignore” type.

I thought of all the adventures I’d been through with each of these girls. Lauren was different as she was a sister, but Joyce and Amanda were friends. The friendship with Amanda began in high school and rapidly grew to be a powerful force in my life; Joyce's friendship was similar. What a joy these girls were to me and I to them. Like I said, we had no secrets except maybe a few little things we may have done on our own because the other doesn't like it. No use telling Joyce blow by blow accounts of a trip to the batting cage or Lauren about my sexual escapades. Shameful, I know; I was a bit of a sl-t then and continued to be until the end of the upcoming summer. After summer, I had only two more affairs, with the same guy, early in the fall semester. Bondage did not appear in these actions until I was married.

No one could answer the question: why didn't Mom love me? I still don't know; it hurts me still.

Struggling some more in the bondage expounded a lot of energy and, with it, bad emotions. I heaved up and down from my struggles, and I looked into my big sister’s eyes. Being tied with Lauren… I still cannot top it. She is my favorite person as a captor, captive, and co-captive. We didn't normally get tied together like this too often because typically one of us was the kidnapper. On some things, Lauren was a better Catholic than me, and on some she still is. Love you, Sis.

This was high quality girl scout work, just like I would expect from Joyce. The girl scout was a true professional at this, and all my struggles reminded me that I would not escape under her eye unless she specifically told me she wanted me to try. She was beautiful in so many ways, and in these recent weeks struggled to believe it after being so violently dehumanized in bondage.

Friendship like these couldn’t be topped. Being tied up by Joyce was like being wrapped up in a tight hug that you couldn’t shake, especially with this rope harness pinning me further. This was an adventure I won’t forget, and I hope the others remember it as clearly as I do. Their love was the first step for me in accepting that my thoughts weren’t normal or healthy and that friendship like theirs was more precious than gold. I cannot thank them enough for being in my life.

“Joyce, I love you,” I hugged her tightly after my release.
“You mean it. I can tell. I love you too, Janie.”
“You too, bestie,” I took Amanda next.
“You're a good friend, Janie, and I hope you learned something from this,” she said sweetly.
“I learned something very important: that God is good to give me you!” I almost bounced.
“Come here, Jane!” Lauren grabbed me for a hug as well.

Maturation and appreciation were slow to come… but they were coming!

THE END

[hafnermg]

Great story!! Love seeing more of Janie and her story!!